Luce Vermilion
by Madame Rhea Di'Ey
Summary: Madness is a tricky thing, and Stein is, like always, a little too late. [Stein/Marie Vignette, rather random. T because I'm paranoid, mostly.]


**Author's Note: **Just a quick something. Because Insane!Marie needs exploration and I'm tired. So, here, Soul Eater fandom.

* * *

{**Luce Vermillion**}  
(_whose blood is this? is it yours, or is it mine?_)

...

_[_Madame Rhea Di'Ey_]_

Somewhere between the gleam in her eyes and her fist breaking the wall when he rolls out of her way, Stein realizes Marie isn't really Marie anymore.

[he should've noticed earlier; the signs, they all were there. But he ignored them, brushed them off like they weren't important. His conscience – that tiny voice he usually ignores – screams at him, _Does she really mean so little to you, you soulless bastard?!_

Stein has never felt guilty. Not really, and not until now.

But he should've known when he found her grinning herself silly, razorblade in hand and ruby-red blood staining her skin and the silver-lavender tiles of her bathroom's floor. He should've known, because Marie never grins when she's cut – and Marie certainly doesn't cut herself. Not _his _Marie, at the very least.]

The Marie Mjolnir in front of him turns a demented, smiling face onto him, and as he reads her soulwave he feels _terrified. _

[leave it to her to make him feel all sorts of emotions, and all at once so he is overloaded with them.]

Bubbly giggles spill out of her throat and through her mouth, and he swears he can hear them reverberate through her ribcage, hitting her sternum in an uneven, rhythmic _tap_. Her whole body shakes with the force of her insane laughter, madness making her skin tinge and causing tiny sparks of lightning fly out of her pores.

"Hey, Franken," the blonde says and takes a step towards him. The air around them buzzes with the force of her contaminated soul. "Let's play a game," she utters sweetly, her voice an octave higher than a whisper.

Stein swallows thickly the knot in his throat, blinking tightly. "Marie..."

"Hm?" she hums absently, still sickly-sweet like poisoned honey.

The woman takes one more step towards him, and he steps back instinctively. The Death Scythe frowns at him, and he takes a second to wonder idly how he made her into this thing clad in Marie's skin that stands in front of him.

Sure enough, it is his fault – it's always his fault, and maybe if he was more of what she needed and less of what she desired this shit wouldn't be happening right now –, and he doesn't like how it's wearing his Marie like a meatsuit.

[mine, mine, _mine_. back the fuck off, Kishin. she. is. mine.]

"Marie," he repeats, his voice steadier, no longer betraying the full extent of his feelings. The woman's scowl deepens.

She tilts her head to the side, looking much like a confused, kicked puppy. "You're afraid, Franken. Why...why do you fear me?" she asks in a small voice, and the sparks that leave her grow in intensity. He hesitates for a second before swallowing thickly.

The insanity in her eyes makes the golden orbs shine sickly, and as the whole of ivory skin whitens, Stein knows she's livid with fury. The electricity in the air reaches such level that their hair floats lightly. A spark cracks, and the stitched curtains to Marie's right burst on fire.

She shrieks before attacking her partner.

Stein dodges, and now their bedroom sports another huge hole in the wall. No matter; he can fix it later.

[_Yeah, but can you fix __**her**__?_ the tiny voice in his head from before asks quietly.]

He blocks the next punch, catching her tiny fist in his larger palm. He's quite sure she broke, or at the very least cracked, one or more of his fingers. But again, _It doesn't matter_, he reassures himself as he twists her arm with a grunt and grabs her shoulder with his free hand, turning her around and successfully locking both of her hands in a vice grip, using his hands as impromptu handcuffs. He pushes her against the nearest intact wall, trapping her between the concrete and his own body. Respect for personal space is all but forgotten, and she shakes and quivers and actually _electrocutes _him but he couldn't care less even if he tried.

Marie's cheeks are stained with frustrated tears, and Stein's voice is low, tenderly rough when he speaks next.

"I'm not afraid."

He presses his chapped lips to her much softer ones, closing his eyes. He aligns his soul to hers, pouring his wavelength as gently as he's capable into her own. It's an intimacy he never thought he'd feel. And it scares him shitless, frankly, because this is Marie and he could never forgive himself if he fucked up more than he already has – he couldn't live with himself if he hurt her more than he has thus far.

[_Aw, how sweet. You actually care!_, the tiny voice purrs, snickering contently.]

_Wake up, Marie_, he conveys through their unstable alignment ignoring his inner snippy ego.

_Please, wake up.  
_[What would you do if she didn't?]

He's pulled in. And in the most hidden corner of her mind, he finds her. Weakened and bruised, broken and frail. "Stein," she says, and somehow he wonders how would his first name sound if it left her lips. "How'd you get in here? You should go. All this madness...it'll hurt you."

"I'm not going. Not if I can't take you back with me to the surface."

She smiles weakly in retaliation. "Then I hope you're comfortable. We'll be trapped here a while."

* * *

**A/N: **Rate & Review, favorite and whatnot.


End file.
